


Sanctum Caeli

by HopeAndHeartache



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, POV Third Person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:26:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28201569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopeAndHeartache/pseuds/HopeAndHeartache
Summary: She had committed a crime, and was prepared to pay. She was waiting, counting the days, until they would push her into the lonely void of space. Only, it wasn't space, and she wasn't alone anymore.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/John Murphy/Original Female Character(s), Bellamy Blake/Original Female Character(s), Finn Collins/Clarke Griffin/Raven Reyes, Jasper Jordan & Original Female Character(s), John Murphy/Original Female Character, Monty Green & Original Female Character(s), Octavia Blake & Original Female Character(s), Octavia Blake/Lincoln, Wells Jaha & Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	1. Flight of The Hundred and One

A girl sat on the floor of a small, barely lit grey room. Everything was that same shade between white and black; the walls, the floor and ceiling, the bench built into the wall that served as a cot. She was alone in the room, with no one to visit her and no one to care whether or not she got floated when she turned eighteen.

She glanced to her side, her light blue eyes locking onto a series of scratched-in tally marks that took up almost the entirety of the wall to her right. Counting them, though by now she knew the marks by heart, she worked out her time left. Seven months, one week, three days; that was when she was accepted or ejected. Picking up the worn-down screw from beside her, she carved another mark. Two days.

Her name was Isobel Sterling, aged seventeen and an unlikely candidate for readmission into the general population. She knew she was going to get floated; it was just a matter of time. Her skin was pale from lack of sunlight, though many people on The Ark were the same, and she had a smattering of light freckles on her cheeks and across her nose. Her eyes, framed with thick, dark lashes, were a light blue colour.

Waves of dark auburn hair fell all around her, hiding her face and creating a cloak of hair that fell down her back, stopping around her waist. Like most people, her clothing was old and showed signs of wear and constant repair. She wore a grey tank top with holes around the collar, under a faded green jersey hoodie. On her legs she wore faded black combat trousers, covered with empty pockets, and she had thick, off-white socks under scuffed black, lace-up ankle boots on her feet.

“Prisoner 98,” a man’s voice sounded from outside her cell. She looked up, tucking the worn screw into her sock and pushing her long, curling red hair out of her face. There was a guard looking into her cell through the hatch on the door. She didn’t recognise him. “Stand facing the back wall with your hands raised. Comply and we will not be required to use force.”

Standing, the redhead did as she was instructed, her muscles tensed and ready for a fight. A bright light shone into her cell and she narrowed her eyes slightly until they grew accustomed to it. The guard entered with two others, one holding a case, which he opened to reveal several metal cuffs. On instinct, Isobel took a step back, eyeing them cautiously.

“Hold out your right arm,” one guard instructed. They spoke calmly, and so she responded in kind, continuing to comply. Resisting would only prolong the inevitable, and Isobel was tired of fighting a lost cause.

The cuff was cold, all metal, and pinched her arm when it was secured. Isobel frowned at the feeling, but did not flinch, and did not make a sound. All three guards edged around her carefully, clearly put-off by her silence and her placid behaviour.

“If you remain compliant, the rest of this should go just as smoothly,” another guard explained and she looked up from her cuff sharply, her eyes narrowing at him. He shifted slightly.

“What’s going on?” she asked, cutting straight to the point. “Am I being floated?”

“I am not at liberty to discuss the situation,” the guard told her. He took her arm and led her outside. As soon as her four grey walls expanded into a series of tiered cells and unfamiliar faces, the girl took in the sight before her.

The Sky Box.

She had seen it only once, when she had been led to her cell, and it had been dark then, and deceptively void of human life. Some cells were full, other empty, but the halls were deserted. This time, it was teeming with life. All around her were guards and other juvenile prisoners, some going along with what they were being told, but many were fighting and yelling and trying to run, and most were just confused. The guards shot those who did not comply – tranquilisers.

Keeping quiet, the girl lowered her head and allowed her curls to obscure her face. She was led through the Sky Box, down from the top tier, where her cell was located, towards the exit, where more guards were waiting. By this point, many of the criminals led out were unconscious or heavily restrained. A few, like Isobel, were simply walking of their own volition.

She lost track of how long she was led through the endless, identical corridors of The Ark, but eventually she and the other juveniles were led onto a ship and strapped into secured seating. She was waved through and pointed towards a ladder, which she climbed. There were a few rows of chairs, and many of them were already filled, with some people simply strapped to the harnesses on the walls. Plenty of room for all of them, all one hundred.

As a guard sat her down and secured her harness, the redhead looked around, trying desperately to find a familiar face. While Isobel didn’t know many people, she knew some, and half-hoped that they might have been in the Sky Box, and thus in this ship. However, when she realised that the most familiar face amongst the masses were some she only vaguely recognised, she felt suddenly afraid.

The guards cleared out, with all prisoners now secure. A glance showed her that everyone was wearing the same metal cuff. The doors were sealed and with a jolt their ship detached from The Ark. A sick feeling of worry began to bloom in the girl’s stomach. Was this a mass floating? Had they simply decided to rid themselves of all their young delinquents by sending them out on a ship to run out of air, so they no longer had to waste rations on those they knew would be floated anyway?

Her thoughts distracted her, so she didn’t notice those that were drugged waking up. People began talking to each other, guessing at what was happening, and the most popular theory was a mass floating. Having already thought this, the fact that more people were thinking it made Isobel worry, and that worry turned to panic when the ship jolted.

“Hey,” someone called out, only just loud enough to be heard. Isobel’s head snapped up and she looked over to the voice, her eyes wide. It was a boy with sharp features and a friendly smile, his hair and eyes dark, his skin tanned, and goggles perched on his head. He looked familiar, but she couldn’t quite place him.

“M-Me?” she frowned at her own wavering voice, but the boy’s smile just turned more friendly at the sound. He nodded.

“Don’t worry,” he tried to comfort her. “They’d never just float us. I mean, look and me and you; it’d be a devastating loss to The Ark’s gene pool if they just floated good looking people like us,” he grinned. Isobel smiled slightly, relaxing a little more.

“Dude, shut up,” snorted the boy next to him, an Asian teen with tidily combed black hair and warm brown eyes. He looked over to her and offered her a smile, which she shakily returned.

“He’s just jealous,” the other boy sniggered. “Though, if you keep smiling at him like that, I’ll get pretty jealous, too.”

“Quit flirting!” someone jeered at the goggles-wearing boy, who turned bright red at the statement. Clearly, he lost his nerve when he heard the yell, as he looked away from her and didn’t try speaking to her again. He and his friend spoke amongst themselves and Isobel was left alone once more, her brain running over various scenarios.

She was drawn out of her own head, however, when ship jolted again, causing her to tense up, and the screens in the ship lit up, showing the face of Chancellor Jaha. Her eyebrows drew together in a frown as she looked at the face of the man who had killed so many, who so many hated, but she was forced to listen to what he was saying.

 _“Prisoners of The Ark, hear me now,”_ he said clearly, though his face and voice seemed rather smug. _“You’ve been given a second chance, and as your Chancellor, it is my hope that you see this as not just a chance for you, but a chance for all of us, indeed for mankind itself.”_

“We going to Earth,” gasped the girl strapped in beside her. Isobel glanced at her and was momentarily struck by how beautiful the girl’s features were, and how similar they looked to someone else she knew. She was clutching the arms of her seat with a white-knuckled grip, clearly scared, and Isobel moved without thinking, placing her left hand over the girl’s right.

Isobel said nothing, even as the brunette’s head snapped up at the contact, and only squeezed the tanned hand as it shook. The girl released her grip on the seat and turned her hand palm-up, gripping Isobel’s in return. There was comfort in the gesture for both of them, and the brunette and the redhead relaxed marginally.

 _“We have no idea what is waiting for you down there. If the odds of survival were better, we would’ve sent others,”_ he continued. _“Frankly, we’re sending you because your crimes have made you expendable.”_

“Your dad is a dick, Wells,” yelled the boy sat on her other side. The redhead’s eyebrow quirked and she looked around, quickly spotting the Chancellor’s son strapped in beside Doctor Griffin’s daughter. Others were laughing, but Wells simply rolled his eyes.

 _“Those crimes will be forgiven, your records wiped clean,”_ he went on to say, getting the complete attention of everyone on board. The lights began flickering and the ship started to jolt. _“The drop site had been chosen carefully. Before the last war, Mount Weather was a military base built within a mountain. It was to be stocked with enough non-perishables to sustain three hundred people for up to two years.”_

“Spacewalk bandit strikes again,” someone commented and the redhead looked up, spotting on dark-haired teen floating around the ship. He floated around, settling in front of Wells and mini-Griffin, saying something she couldn’t hear.

By this point, the redhead tuned out what Jaha was saying, focusing instead on bracing herself against the turbulence, having to release the brunette’s hand in order to grip her seat. Her mind was running a thousand miles per second. What would happen when they landed? Did they really expect one hundred teenage criminals to get along long enough for their little experiment to run its course? A worse thought hit her. Is this just pretence? The Earth was supposed to be uninhabitable for another hundred years.

Her eyes snapped open.

They really were just sending them to die.

With another sudden jolt, the ship’s power seemed to shut off, with sparks flying everywhere. The Spacewalker, and the two idiots who decided to copy him, all landed hard with the sudden re-introduction of gravity, though the latter two seemed to have a worse landing. Spacewalker merely landed on top of Wells and Mini-Griffin.

After a few moments of free-falling, the ship seemed to slow itself – retrorockets, a part of her mind added helpfully – before it finally crashed to a stop, all systems shutting down with a whir of electronic failure. At first, everyone just sat there, strapped in, trying to come to terms with what just happened. If Jaha had been telling the truth, they had landed on Earth. Leaving the ship could mean freedom, or, more likely, painful death.

“Listen,” said the Asian guy strapped to the wall. “No machine hum.”

“Whoa,” his friend replied, taking in the relative silence. “That’s a first.”

The quiet was almost deafening, the lack of the familiar sound of machinery was disconcerting, but everyone seemed to get over it quickly. In fact, most seemed happy, and took it as proof that they really had landed on Earth. Their harnesses released and almost no one hesitated before pushing themselves out of their seats.

Isobel stayed, silent and unmoving, and watched Mini-Griffin rush to the boys who had attempted to fly to the ground. Judging by her reaction, and that of the Spacewalker, they were both dead. Beside her, the brunette was slowly reaching to release her harness, clearly stunned by the sudden landing, but slowly recovering.

“The outer door is on the lower level,” someone yelled as they moved to the ladder. “Let’s go!”

“No,” Mini-Griffin said commandingly, though her tone was tinged with fear, “We can’t just open the doors.”

“Hey, just back it up, guys,” someone else called and the redhead sighed, realising it was time to get up. She glanced at the brunette as she unlatched herself and took the younger girl’s mildly shaking hand again, offering her a brief smile.

“Take your time,” she comforted. “It’s all we’ve got down here.”

Waiting for the girl to give some kind of response, and receiving a nod as the brunette took a deep breath and steadied her hands, Isobel then moved to the ladder, climbing down it just as Mini-Griffin confronted the guard that remained on the ship.

“The air could be toxic,” she told him.

“If the air is toxic, we’re all dead, anyway,” he retorted. That was when Isobel recognised him, and her eyes widened slightly as she felt her heart beat a little faster.

“Bellamy?” called the brown-haired girl from the ladder, obviously having taken a moment and composed herself. She walked through the crowds towards him, ignoring the people around her.

“It’s the girl they hid under the floorboards,” someone said and Isobel tilted her head. She’d heard of this girl, the second-born child, illegal and unheard of in The Ark. The mother had been floated, and the underage child locked up in the Sky Box, simply for being born, ready to be floated as soon as she reached eighteen. What she didn’t know was that Bellamy Blake was her brother.

“My God,” the guard, Bellamy, smiled. “Look how big you are,” he said before she hugged him, the older man holding her back just as tightly.

“What the hell are you wearing?” the brunette questioned angrily. “A guard’s uniform?”

“I borrowed it to get on the dropship,” he replied, cluing in everyone else that he wasn’t actually a guard. “Someone has got to keep an eye on you.”

“Where’s your wristband?” Mini-Griffin questioned him, but his little sister was the one to speak.

“Do you mind?” she snapped. “I haven’t seen my brother in a year.”

“No one has a brother,” one clueless boy butted in.

“That’s Octavia Blake,” a girl corrected him. “The girl they found hidden in the floor.”

Octavia lunged at her, but her brother held her back. “Octavia, Octavia, no,” he soothed her. “Let’s give them something else to remember you by.”

“Yeah?” she scoffed, backing down slightly. “Like what?”

“Like being the first person on the ground in one hundred years,” he smiled at her, and she grinned back. The redhead, however, had a cynical mind. If they lived long enough, history wouldn’t recognise this mission, and even if it did, it wouldn’t recalled Octavia Blake. Historians would pick someone else, someone more influential or less controversial, to name as ‘first on the ground’.

Isobel watched as Bellamy turned. He pulled the lever and the door opened, the artificially circulated oxygen quickly being sucked out of their pressurised ship, replaced by real air. Everyone felt a slight head rush, and they shielded their eyes from the sun. It was bright outside, and warm, and it smelled like nothing they had ever known. Hesitantly, Octavia stepped out of the ship and dropped her feet onto the ground. A few second passed before she grinned.

“We’re back, bitches!”

Prompted by her yell, the teens all cheered and poured out of the ship, embracing the Earth. It was all greens and yellows and blues, and the redhead stood at the threshold of the dropship. Bellamy was out there, keeping an eye on his sister, and Isobel glanced quickly in his direction, hoping he wouldn’t recognise her. She took a step outside, but almost instantly she recoiled and moved back, passing Mini-Griffin, Wells and Spacewalker on their way out, though the three barely paid her any attention.

The ship was safety, and it was familiar. There was nothing about Earth that seemed safe. It was endless air and new sights and freedom, but it seemed too good to be true. If there was one thing she knew, it was never to trust anything that seemed too perfect.

Teens ran around, laughing and shouting and chasing each other. Most were looking around, picking things up and running their hands over the trees and leaves. Some began playing with the fires set by their rough landing, though they were small and contained. All-in-all, everyone seemed happy and excited, but the redhead’s anxiety grew. She was waiting for something to come along and snatch it all away.

As she twisted her fingers together, the weight on her wrist caught her attention and she held up her right arm, observing the wristband. It was grey, metal, and bulky, and the tightness of it had caused the entire area to throb painfully, but Isobel rotated her hand nonetheless, testing the mobility of her appendage with the new accessory. She had full movement and, as she tested the weight of the bracelet with a small grin, a potential built-in weapon should the need arise.

“Hey, you’re not going out there?” someone asked and the redhead looked up from the wristband, spotting Wells stood by the door. Frowning slightly, she shook her head.

“I’m fine here,” she told him, looking away. “What’re _you_ doing back in here, anyway?”

“Wanted to check the dropship,” he replied. “See what damage the rough landing might have caused,” he paused a moment, looking her over. “You wanna give me a hand?”

“I don’t know anything about mechanics,” she informed him truthfully, though she stood up nonetheless.

“I could always use the company,” Wells shrugged, a small smile forming over his lips. “Not many people here are willing to spend five minutes with me.”

 _‘Well, it is your dad who locked all of us up, floated some peoples’ parents, and shoved us all on a ship to die of radiation,’_ she thought bluntly. Saying nothing, the redhead followed him up the first ladder, then the second, and stood by the third as he climbed up and out onto the roof of the ship.

“Lots of panels missing,” he called down to her. He soon reappeared, climbing down the ladder and making his way over to a control panel. Pressing a button, Wells frowned. “Dropship to Ark, do you read me?”

“This is where we should hear static, right?” the redhead asked sarcastically. “I told you, I suck at this, and even I know we have no communications. It’s all fried. We’re on our own.”

“You seem pretty calm about it,” Wells noticed, turning to face her. She shrugged.

“No point in panicking about something we can’t control,” she sighed. “If we die, we die. I expected to get floated when the guards came to my cell. At least I got to see Earth first.”

“You eighteen?” he asked, looking her over.

“Not yet,” she responded. “Still, people have been floated for stupid reasons, just to create more space on The Ark. Stands to reason they’d float us early if they already knew we’d fail our review.”

“What did you do?” he questioned, taking a slight step back, eyeing her slightly more closely than before. The redhead noticed and grinned.

“Worried?” she teased, flashing him a calming smile. Ignoring the fact that she didn’t answer him, Wells dropped the question. There were plenty of murders out there, and she hadn’t shown him any animosity.

“I recognise you, y’know,” he said, frowning as he tried to place her. “I think I saw you around, but I never got your name.”

“Makes sense,” she hummed. “The Ark’s big, but it’s not infinite. We’re all bound to cross paths, even if we travel in different circles.”

“I’m Wells,” he introduced, realising that she wasn’t telling him her name. “Wells Jaha.”

“I’m aware,” she smiled. “I knew whose son you were, and some guy in the dropship called you by name before we landed.”

“Yes, that,” he sighed, recalling the comment about his dad. “I…I can’t say I disagree with what he said, but he’s still my dad.”

“Can’t pick family,” she agreed. “I’m Isobel.”

“A name at last,” Wells chuckled and she smiled back, putting her hands in her pockets.

“You earned it,” she teased.

“We should go tell someone about the systems,” he suggested and she shrugged again.

“Go ahead,” she nodded. “I’m just gonna stay here, where it’s safe.”

“You sure?” he asked, hesitant to leave her. “It’s…It really is amazing out there, Isobel.”

“I saw it,” she agreed. “I’d rather stay, Wells.”

“Suit yourself,” Wells accepted, climbing back down the ladder. Rather than follow him, Isobel sat down in one of the chairs and sighed, noticing that he didn’t close the hatch behind him and she could hear everything that was going on down there.

She heard Wells outside, taking to who she assumed was Mini-Griffin. The blonde sounded defensive and aggressive, and Wells merely took it. Rolling her eyes, Isobel stood from her chair and moved down the ladder, approaching the threshold of the dropship, but remaining out of sight as she observed what was going on.

“Where’d you learn to do that?” asked Wells, nodding to the map Mini-Griffin was drawing on. An awkward silence passed before he sighed. “Your father.”

“Ah, cool, a map,” another guy, Isobel recognised him instantly as the one who had tried to calm her down on the dropship, said as he came up behind Mini-Griffin. “They got a bar in this town? I’ll buy you a beer,” he flirted, badly.

“You mind?” Wells sneered, turning and grabbing the smaller teen and forcing him back. Isobel tensed, not wanting to see him hurt, but others stepped in before she could.

“Hey, hey, hey!” someone else yelled. “Hands off of him. He’s with us,” the boy defended, his group of big-stick wielding teens behind him. Much like the poor-flirt, Isobel found she only vaguely recognised him and his followers.

“Relax,” Wells said, backing down. “We’re just trying to figure out where we are.”

“We’re on the ground,” Bellamy, standing with his sister, answered. Unable to help herself, Isobel stepped forwards slightly, coming more into view. “That not good enough for you?”

“We need to find Mount Weather,” insisted Wells, approaching Bellamy. The others followed him, crowding behind him, some worried and some more menacingly. Isobel remained on the ship. “You heard my father’s message. That has to be our first priority.”

“Screw your father,” Octavia scoffed. Wells looked stunned and she almost smirked. “What, you think you’re in charge here? You and your little princess?”

“Do you think we care who’s in charge?” Mini-Griffin interrupted. “We need to get to Mount Weather. Not because the Chancellor said so, but because the longer we wait, the hungrier we’ll get and the harder this’ll be.” By this time, she was addressing everyone. “How long do you think we’ll last without those supplies? We’re looking at a twenty-mile trek, okay? So, if we want to get there before dark, we need to leave now.”

“I got a better idea,” Bellamy said, thoroughly unconvinced, “you two go find it for us. Let the privileged do the hard work for a change.”

There was a shout of agreement from the teen criminals and, though Isobel thought it was a slightly amusing idea, she knew Mini-Griffin and Wells would likely die before returning back. They were as Bellamy had said – privileged – and so she doubted they could face whatever was out there. No one knew what the radiation had done to the place, after all.

“You’re not listening,” Wells said, sounding frustrated. “We all need to go.”

The boy from before charged forwards, shoving Wells, who turned to face him quickly. “Look, everybody. The Chancellor of Earth,” he mocked. Tensing, Isobel stepped down the gangway of the ship, her fingers clenching into fists.

“You think that’s funny?” he challenged, and the other teen barrelled into him, knocking him down.

“Wells!” cried Mini-Griffin. Isobel’s entire body tensed and she hesitated for a moment, jolting slightly towards the fight. Her eyes scanned the area – everyone else was on the ground and they were fine – before she looked towards Wells again.

“No, but that was,” the other teen replied smugly as Wells stood, shifting his weight slightly and limping. Isobel’s eyes narrowed at the movement; he’d hurt his leg in the fall. When she noticed no one moving in to help – in fact, the crowd seemed to be egging them on – she took a deep breath.

Not giving herself any time to reconsider, Isobel jumped down from the gangway and pushed her way through the crowd, shoving the teen in the back when she reached him. Shocked, he whirled around, though he seemed to falter slightly when he saw the short redhead who had pushed him. She scowled at him, her fists clenching.

“Back off.”


	2. First to Dye

“Back off,” she ground out, standing between the violent teen and Wells.

“You’re defending him?” he asked, shocked. Isobel stood her ground, even as the crowd eyed her with suspicion. She could feel them staring. She could see Bellamy, over the other teen’s shoulder, but she forced herself to ignore him.

“He’s hurt, it’s not a fair fight,” the redhead explained, leaving no room for argument. Unsure what to do, the other teen held up his fists, perhaps hoping to intimidate her.

“Just go,” he said warningly. “I’d hate to hit a girl.”

Her eyes narrowed and she scoffed, darting forwards and landing a right hook straight to his face. The teen reeled back slightly, but didn’t fall, and she was almost impressed. He came back, fists swinging, and managed to catch her on the temple, and land a solid hit to her side, but Isobel gave him nothing. She kept throwing jabs at him, catching his sides and arms, wearing him down slowly as he continued with his wide, wild swings. She threw another hard right to his face, twisting her hand at the last moment and hitting him with her wristband, and he went down, cursing as he stood back up.

Before they could get into it again, someone swung down from the dropship and stood between them. Once her adrenaline-clouded vision clear, Isobel recognised him as ‘Spacewalker’, though she still didn’t know his real name.

“You’re fighting a girl,” the guy said to the other teen, though he quickly turning to her with his hands up before turning back to the boy, “and, trust me, you’re losing.” The other teen was quiet, not wanting to fight both Isobel and this kid in front of him.

“Hey, Spacewalker,” Octavia stepped forwards, successfully breaking the tension, “Rescue me next,” she said, causing everyone to laugh slightly. Isobel rolled her eyes and walked over to Wells, getting to him at the same time as Mini-Griffin. Everyone else dispersed.

“You alright?” she asked him, but he was just looking at her with wide eyes.

“What? He’s cute,” she heard Octavia say and she looked up, seeing that Bellamy had joined his sister.

“He’s a criminal,” he corrected her.

“They’re all criminals,” she said, almost quietly as though it were some big secret.

“Look, O,” Bellamy said, dragging her away, “I came down here to protect you.”

They had moved far enough away that she couldn’t hear them, and she then realised that she had zoned out on Wells. Quickly looking back at him, she noticed that his attention was on Mini-Griffin as she checked his ankle and she breathed a sigh of relief, though she could feel her cheeks burning.

“So, Mount Weather,” Spacewalker mention as he walked up to them. “When do we leave?”

“Right now,” Mini-Griffin said, standing. She turned back to Wells, “We’ll be back tomorrow with food.”

“How are the two of you gonna carry enough food for one hundred?” asked Wells, picking out the flaws in her plan. Considering it for a moment, Spacewalker turned and grabbed Goggle Boy and his friend, dragging them into the group. Goggles looked over at Isobel and grinned.

“Hello again, pretty-ful, err, pretty beautiful – beautiful,” he stuttered with a tilt of his head, obviously thinking it came out smoother than it did. Isobel quirked a smile, finding it strangely endearing.

“Hi,” she replied quietly.

“Four of us,” Spacewalker corrected. “Can we go now?”

“Sounds like a party,” announced Octavia as she strode over, “Make it five.”

“Hey, what the hell are you doing?” asked Bellamy, following her. Isobel’s eyes widened and she directed her gaze to the ground instantly.

“Going for a walk,” she said in an obvious tone. “You coming, red?” It took Isobel a moment to realise she was addressing her, but by then the conversation had blown passed her.

“Hey,” Mini-Griffin said, grabbing Spacewalker’s wrist and looking at his wristband, “were you trying to take this off?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged, “So?”

“So, this wristband transmits your vital signs to The Ark,” she told him. “Take it off, and they’ll think you’re dead.”

“Should I care?” he scoffed.

“Well, I don’t know,” the blonde replied sarcastically. “Do you want the people you love to think you’re dead? Do you want them to follow you down here in two months? Because they won’t if they think we’re dying.”

Borderline-obsessive staring aside, Isobel couldn’t help but notice a strange look pass over Bellamy’s face when Mini-Griffin said that. Unable to place it, she shrugged it off, thinking it wasn’t overly important. Instead, she focused on Octavia and the sudden grip she had on the redhead’s elbow. Raising an eyebrow, she looked to the brunette, but realised the younger Blake wasn’t even looking at her.

“Okay,” nodded Mini-Griffin, “Now, let’s go.”

The group starting moving out, though Octavia lingered, looking at her brother hopefully. He smiled slightly, saying “Go on,” with a tilt of his head. Grinning, Octavia reached up and kissed his cheek before heading after the others, stopping only when she realised that Isobel, who she still had a grip on, wasn’t following.

“Come on,” she prompted, but the redhead only frowned.

“I never said I was going with you,” she said quietly, shaking her elbow out of the brunette’s grasp and turning back to the dropship. “You have plenty of people, anyway.”

“Seriously?” Octavia gasped, glancing back and seeing the group leaving without her. “You…You have to come! That was really cool, what you did before.”

“Yeah, you kicked Murphy’s ass,” chuckled Bellamy, but Isobel didn’t turn to look at him. Still, she somehow knew Octavia wasn’t referring to the fight and, when she looked at her, she saw a hope-filled light in Octavia’s dark eyes.

“It’ll be fun,” the brunette sang, hoping to convince her.

“Don’t care,” she shrugged. “Not going.”

With that, she walked back to the dropship, ignoring Octavia’s huff, but knowing – hoping – the brunette would chose going after Mini-Griffin and the others instead of following her. The redhead did, however, glance back once at the brown-haired flirt and smiled a little, half-regretting not going with them. She hadn’t quite made it inside the ship before she heard Wells calling out to her.

“Retreating back inside?” he asked from his spot on the ground. She stopped and turned to him, crossing her arms.

“What’d you expect?” she asked. “I’m not exactly gonna go charging through the forest.”

“Never said you should,” he smiled, struggling to get to his feet. With a sigh, Isobel walked over to him and supported some of his weight as he stood. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” she shrugged. “You alright to walk?”

“Should be fine,” he nodded. “Just gotta go easy on my ankle.”

“That guy was a jerk,” she frowned. She honestly hadn’t expected his hostility, considering his defence of the goggle-kid before, but she realised that she had no idea about his past with Wells or, more likely, Wells’ father. “He shouldn’t have done that.”

“He was pissed,” Wells sighed, “and, knowing my dad, he had every right to be.”

“You’re not your dad,” she insisted. “Everyone here needs to realise that, or someone’s going to kill you.”

“Thanks for that,” he laughed and she rolled her eyes.

“It’s the truth. No point in denying it. Best you can do is keep your head down and your mouth shut,” Isobel smiled slightly.

“Yeah,” he looked away for a moment before leaning a little closer to her, making sure no one else could hear. “Thanks for jumping in. You’re kinda badass, you know that?”

“Not really,” she waved him off. “What’re you gonna do now, though? You missed the grand adventure to Mount Weather, and you’re not gonna get far on that leg.”

“I’m thinking of just looking around for some water,” he told her. “You wanna help? It’d probably be more fun than hiding out in the dropship.”

“Looking for water. Sounds like a blast,” she said sarcastically. Nudging her slightly, Wells only smiled and the pair headed off, searching as close as they could for any sign of drinkable water.

They ventured into the forest, Isobel staying close to Wells in case he hurt himself more, but they couldn’t find any water. Instead, they began carrying back any dry wood they found, hoping to start a stock-pile of firewood. Isobel thought it was slightly insane, considering they were in the middle of a forest and their supply of wood was not likely to get low any time soon, but Wells insisted.

Besides, it gave her something to do that didn’t involve avoiding Bellamy, sitting around the dropship, or thinking about the goggles-kid. His smile popped through her head again and she sighed; he really was kinda cute, especially when he was trying to cheer her up. Rolling her eyes at her own thoughts, Isobel tried to shift her focus back onto what she was doing.

“Oww,” she grumbled, dropping the wood she was carrying on their pile by the dropship. She lifted her arm, frowning at the wristband and trying to manoeuvre it back to its previous position in the hopes that it would stop tugging.

“You okay?” asked Wells, moving over to her as quick as his leg would allow.

“Yeah, just this ugly piece of jewellery,” she shrugged off. “Let’s get back out there. You never know when the forest might vanish.”

“Very funny,” he said dryly. “I just think a large supply is better than foraging every time we need a fire.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” nodded Isobel, “and I’m not just saying that to avoid you explaining to me, for the fourth time, why this is a good idea.”

“Whatever,” he snorted, throwing his branches on top of her own.

“Find any water yet?” asked a male voice as two teens approached them.

“No, not yet,” Wells replied before turning, seeing the boy who had attacked him – Murphy, according to Bellamy – and one of his taller followers standing behind them. They seemed unthreatening, so far, but Isobel was still tense.

“We’re still looking,” she said, uncertain about the way Murphy was looking at Wells. He glanced at her, looking torn between aggression and something else.

“You can come with us, if you want,” suggested Wells, as a sort of peace offering. He turned and paused, prompting Isobel to follow his line of sight. The writing carved into the side of the ship made her blood run cold. Clearly, peace was not an option.

_FIRST SON, FIRST TO DYE_

“You know,” Murphy began, making a show of scratching his nose with the hand that held his newly crafted knife, “my father, he begged for mercy in the airlock chamber when your father floated him.”

Isobel closed her eyes for a moment, images flashing behind her eyelids, and she felt a sudden stirring of something. Not pity, but understanding. Murphy was still a jerk, he was still harassing someone who was only guilty of being related to a murderer, but she had felt the hate, and knew that aggression came easier than anything else when faced with the source.

For a moment it seemed like Wells was just going to walk away. He limped passed Murphy and his friend, though when he bumped shoulders with the shorter teen, Isobel knew someone was going to happen. She followed the Chancellor’s son quickly, know he wouldn’t be up for a fair fight with his leg still injured.

“You spelled ‘die’ wrong, geniuses,” Wells pointed out and Isobel grit her teeth, glancing back at the words for a moment. Bellamy walked passed them and her stomach flipped, but she focused on following Wells, doing her best to ignore the once-over Bellamy gave her.

“They’re gonna hurt you,” she told Wells when they were far enough away that she knew Murphy wouldn’t hear her.

“Thanks for your vote of confidence,” Wells muttered, not stopping. They walked through the forest, but this time they didn’t stop to collect the fallen branches.

“I am confident that you’ll fight back as best you can,” Isobel assured him, “but they’ll win.”

“You seem pretty sure about that,” he snapped, turning to look at her. They both stopped, staring at each other.

“Mini-Griffin, Spacewalk and I are the only ones who would try to stop him,” she said, giving him the hard truth. “I’m the only one _here_ , and there’s a lot more of them than I can handle. You’re injured. I like you, Wells, but not enough to die for you. Check your pride and keep your head down, or they will kill you.”

“Mini-Griffin?” he snorted, all seriousness falling from his face. “Spacewalker?”

“I…forget their names,” she shrugged. “I never met them properly.”

“Clarke,” he told her, “and Finn, from what I heard. Anyone else?”

“Goggles?” she suggest, mentally reprimanding herself for seeming too eager as she tried to come up with a way to sound less desperate, “And what about his friend?”

“Not sure,” Wells admitted. “Didn’t really get to know the kids from other sections so well. I’m guessing you never really knew that other guy, the one with the knife.”

“His name’s Murphy,” she smirked, glad to know something he didn’t. “You know his friend, the taller one that didn’t talk much?”

“Not sure,” said Wells, shaking his head. “What about that guard guy, Bellamy Blake? You know him?”

She turned red instantly. “Why are we just stood here asking each other if we know people?” she asked quietly, hoping to change the subject.

“Okay, and what was that reaction all about?” he asked as Isobel walked ahead of him, further into the forest.

“What reaction?” she denied. “I didn’t react.”

“So, you know Blake, then,” he stated. “How?”

“I grew up in the same section as him,” she shrugged. “Saw him around. That’s all.”

“Alright,” Wells sighed. “You don’t wanna tell me.”

“I just told you,” she insisted.

“Sure you did,” he said sarcastically. “Don’t worry, I won’t pry.”

“…Thanks,” she mumbled and the pair continued their quest for water in relative silence.

“It’ll be dark soon,” Wells noticed after about an hour of searching. “We should head back.”

“Lead the way,” she prompted, but Wells only smirked.

“Oh, no, no. After you,” he bowed mockingly and Isobel returned it with a teasing smile as she nudged him on her way passed.

“Oops,” she said innocently while Wells shook his head, unable to stop the grin on his face.

Twenty minutes later, they were back at camp. At Isobel’s insistence, since Wells was so good at making ‘friends’, they were back in the dropship, trying to keep their minds off how hungry there were. Wells had gone back to playing with the wires behind one of the ship’s many panels, and Isobel didn’t care to ask him what he was doing.

She laid down on the ground close to him and closed her eyes, drifting off for a while. After wandering around all day – and not to mention that fight with Murphy, who was much better than she’d care to admit – she was exhausted. It seemed, however, that the universe was against her getting any sleep, as it felt like she’d barely gotten any rest before cheering from outside the ship woke her up.

“What the hell is that?” she grumbled, sitting up and seeing that Wells was asleep a short distance from her. She stood groggily and nudged his arm with her boot, waking him up.

“What’s going on?” he mumbled, sitting up.

“That’s what I’d like to know, too,” Isobel frowned, waiting for him to wake up a little more. Soon enough, he was alert and he heard the cheering.

“What the hell?” he muttered, standing up and limping his way out of the ship, Isobel following closely behind.

It was already dark, and the criminals seemed to have taken their collected firewood and made a bonfire. They were all crowded around it, yelling encouragement, but it wasn’t until Wells and Isobel had moved to the centre that they knew why. Murphy sat there with a girl, slipping a small piece of scrap from the ship under her wristband and prying it off. Remembering what Clarke had said earlier, Isobel clutched her own and bit her lip.

“Who’s next?” Bellamy asked, stepping out from the crowd. Recalling his look from earlier, it wasn’t difficult for Isobel to conclude that he was the one behind this.

“What the hell are you doing?” demanded Wells, limping towards Bellamy. He glanced back once as Bellamy stopped Murphy’s friend from earlier from advancing on him, but noticed that Isobel hadn’t followed, and was instead stood amongst the crowd behind him, her eyes turned away.

“We’re liberating ourselves,” Bellamy replied. “What does it look like?”

“It looks like you’re trying to get us all killed,” said Wells, but the look on Bellamy’s face told him he couldn’t convince him. Instead, he turned to the gathered criminals. “The communication system is dead. These wristbands are all we got. Take them off, and The Ark will think we’re dying, that it’s not safe for them to follow.”

“That’s the point, _Chancellor_ ,” smirked Bellamy, getting laughs from a few people in the crowd. “We can take care of ourselves, _can’t we_?” he said the last part louder, the roughness in his voice causing an involuntary shudder on Isobel’s part.

A roar of agreement sounded from the crowd and Isobel bit her lip again, torn between standing with Wells and keeping back. She hadn’t wanted to get caught in the middle of anything. Defending him before had been instinctive, protecting the injured, but she had warned him this time. He couldn’t expect her to keep sticking her neck out for him.

“You think this is a game?” Wells demanded. “Those aren’t just our friends and our parents up there. They’re our farmers; our doctors; our engineers. I don’t care what he tells you,” he said to the crowd. “We won’t survive here on our own and besides, if it really is safe, how could you not want the rest of our people to come down?”

“My people already are down,” Bellamy insisted, drawing the masses back to his side. “ _Those_ people locked my people up. _Those_ people killed my mother for the crime of having a second child. _Your father_ did that.”

“My father didn’t write the laws,” insisted Wells.

“No,” Bellamy mocked. “He enforced them, but not anymore. Not here. Here, there are no laws.”

Isobel cringed away from the crowd as they roared again. Bellamy definitely had a gift for garnering public support. Everyone around her was siding with him, and that did not bode well for the Chancellor’s son. Her words from earlier came back to her, but she was suddenly finding it difficult to stick to them. Surely, sticking up for him one last time wouldn’t get her killed. Seriously injured, probably, but not killed.

“Dammit, Wells,” she muttered under her breath.

“Here, we do whatever the hell we want!” announced Bellamy. “ _Whenever_ the hell we want!” he added, more sounds of agreement meeting his words. “Now, you don’t have to like it, Wells. You can ever try to stop it, or change it. Kill me,” he suggested. “You know why? Whatever the hell we want.”

“Whatever the hell we want!” echoed Murphy, beginning a chant of those words throughout the crowd. Feeling uncomfortable, Isobel stepped out of the throng of people, standing behind Wells.

Wells looked around, seeing the crowd turned completely against him and knowing there was nothing to say that would sway them now. Having Isobel with him made him feel somewhat better – just the fact that someone had his back – and as he turned to face Bellamy again, his stare was challenging. He found, however, that it took a moment before Bellamy returning his look, as the older man’s eyes seemed to be on Isobel.

Glancing behind him, he realised Isobel didn’t noticing Bellamy’s staring, as she was looking around the forest behind the crowd, as if she had noticed something no one else had. Her gaze them flew upwards and she smiled slightly. Wells turned, seeing that Bellamy was no longer staring at her, but meeting his eye smugly, before he forgot to care for a moment.

Water hit his head, and he knew that surviving would suddenly be that smallest bit easier than before.

“Rain,” Isobel breathed in relief. The crowd was cheering the weather, seemingly impressed by anything this planet threw at them.

“We need to collect this,” insisted Wells, turning back to Bellamy.

“Whatever the hell you want,” he smirked.

The men exchanged looks – one defiant, the other smug – before Wells turned and limped away to find containers to collect the rainwater in. Isobel stood, her face upturned to the water, not even noticing his departure. Bellamy copied her and for a moment, everyone in the crowd simply stood, enjoying the feeling of the rain washing away the day’s dust. When Isobel eventually looked back around her, she noticed Wells was gone.

“He headed back to the dropship,” Bellamy told her, realising she was looking around for Wells. Her head snapped back towards him, but she said nothing. “I recognise you, y’know. You were the kid three doors down from me, in Section 17a. Remember? Your dad used to…He used to have you bring around the sewing once a month.”

“Y-Yeah,” she nodded quickly. “Your mother was good at it, and she didn’t ask too much in return. She used to sew pink buttons on my clothes. She was nice.”

“Yeah,” he smiled, remembering his mother. Shaking his head, he looked back to Isobel, taking in how tense she seemed. “Listen –”

“I gotta go,” she interrupted, turning suddenly and heading into the dropship to find Wells. Her breathing was heavy and she was pretty sure her face was completely red by this point. Once inside the dropship, she paused for a moment to collect herself. She was soaked by the rain, yet felt completely warm. A smile spread across her face for a moment before she shook it off.

“Isobel?” Wells called, spotting her by the door. He was juggling a few large containers. “Give me a hand, will you?”

“Yeah, sure,” she nodded, hurrying forwards to take some of the containers from him. They moved in and out of the dropship quickly, setting out the open containers to collect the falling rain.

They collected a fair amount before the sky dried up and the rain ceased, but neither had the energy to drag the half-full tubs back inside. Leaving them for the time being, they looked around the camp, seeing that most people had either moved back into the dropship, or were setting themselves up on the ground or against trees, readying themselves for a night’s sleep.

“Looks like everyone’s had a tiring day,” mused Isobel, rubbing her eyes sleepily. Despite her nap earlier, she was feeling the day catching up to her.

“C’mon,” Wells nodded towards the trees, where people had already begun settling down. “It’s getting too crowded inside.”

“I _like_ inside, crowded or not,” Isobel rejected, shaking her head. “I’ll just sleep on the floor.”

“Probably taken, too,” he sighed. “Everyone wants the nice, dry ship.”

“Myself included,” she scoffed, crossing her arms.

“What about sleeping under the stars?” he continued, trying to tempt her. Isobel only rolled her eyes.

“We’ve been sleeping _amongst_ the stars since we were born,” she sniggered. “I’ll save you time, though. Pick a tree.”

“Seriously?” he gaped. “That’s it? No grand stand-off, no stubborn refusal?”

“That’s it,” she smiled. “I’m really not as stubborn as you seem to think I am, y’know. Besides, I’ve been going along with you all day. Why stop now?”

“Alright, then,” he grinned, moving towards a tree – his limp all but gone – and settling himself down against it. Isobel joined him, leaning up against the trunk beside him and shifting around until she was comfortable. “Sleep well.”

“You, too.”

It wasn’t too long before her sleep was interrupted, though it must have been a fair while, as most people were in a deep slumber by now. A hand was placed over her mouth to keep her from shouting and waking, or alerting, the others, and she jolted awake. Her wide eyes filled with confusion when she saw it was Bellamy waking her up, though he quickly stood and backed away from her.

“Don’t make a sound,” he warned quietly, his arm outstretched, a gun in his hand, trained on the also-awake-and-standing Wells. Her limbs were taut, ready for a fight, but the odds were against her, so she forced herself to relax.

“Are you okay?” she asked Wells as she stood. He nodded, but Bellamy was shoving him forwards before he could talk.

“Move,” he grunted, giving Wells another push before gesturing with the gun for Isobel to follow. She trained her eyes on him as she walked past, fear for her life outweighing any kind of attraction she had to him.

They walked for a while, Wells leading the way, with Isobel trailing after him and Bellamy walking close behind her, his gun in hand should either of them prove uncooperative. Isobel glanced back a few times, but Bellamy wouldn’t meet her eye, and instead had taken to putting his gun on her shoulder and nudging her to walk.

“That’s far enough,” he said suddenly, and the three of them stopped, Wells and Isobel turning to face Bellamy. They were well out of earshot of the dropship by this point. “I don’t want to shoot you, Wells. Hell, I like you, but I do need them,” he paused, pointing the gun upwards, referring to The Ark, “to think that you’re dead.”

“Why?” Wells demanded quickly, confusion and fear mixing in his eyes. “Why are you doing this? For real, not some crap about getting to do what you want to do.” His eyes were wide, looking directly at Bellamy, but Isobel stared at the gun.

“I have my reasons,” smirked Bellamy, lifting the gun slightly as he spoke. “I also have the gun. So, I ask the questions, and the question is, why aren’t you helping me? Your dad banished you, Wells, and yet here you are, still doing his bidding, following the rules. Aren’t you tired of always doing what’s expected of you? Stand up to him. Take off that wristband, and you’ll be amazed at how good it feels.”

The mini-monologue felt rehearsed, and, at times, Isobel could hear a slight salesman-pitch. It was the same one she’d heard the cooks use when plying their black market goods to first-time buyers, and she wondered for a moment if that was where Bellamy had picked it up from. Still, he had a point, and Isobel too was somewhat baffled about how Wells managed to be sent to Earth, yet was still obeying his father’s every word.

“No,” Wells rejected in no uncertain terms. “Never. Not gonna happen. Is that clear enough for you?”

“Yeah,” nodded Bellamy, a small smile quirking at his mouth. “It is. What’s your opinion on the matter, red?”

“She has a name,” sneered Jaha Junior, stepped forward slightly as if to stand in front of her. Isobel placed her hand on his shoulder, the movement tracked by Bellamy’s dark eyes, before they flicked back to her face.

“I’m with Wells, and Clarke,” she told him. “We can’t let The Ark think we’re dying, no matter how bad they were to us.”

“Then I’m sorry,” he said with a frown, meeting her eye for a moment and sighing before his posture changed, and he resumed his confident stance. “I’m sorry it had to be this way,” he continued, glancing around as he tucked his gun away in his waistband.

They had been followed.

Murphy was approaching them, knife drawn. Wells darted back, pulling Isobel with him. They turned to run, but there were more boys getting closer on all sides. Isobel yanked her arm out of Wells’ grip and shoved him towards the hill as she turned and punched one of the ones approaching them. He went down, clearly not having expected the hit, but Isobel was grabbed from behind, her arms pulled behind her back.

She flailed, kicking up her legs and attempting to break the grip on her arms, but whoever had hold of her was strong. They turned in order to counter one of her more vicious tugs and she saw Bellamy, standing back and watching the scene play out, so she could only assume that it was Murphy who had grabbed her.

“No!” yelled Wells as he was wrestled to the ground by two others. “No, get off of me! No!”

“Get him down,” hissed one of the boys as they struggled with him, dragging him to the ground.

“Put him down,” said the other over the sound of Wells shouting. They grabbed his arm, the one with the wristband, and held it on a rock. One of the attackers knelt on his arm, so he couldn’t retract it, as the boy Isobel had punched moved over and stuck his knife under the wristband, beginning to work it off.

“Don’t do this!” cried Wells over and over.

“Stop it!” screamed Isobel, aiming her feet backwards to kick Murphy, but he was quicker than she had anticipated, and he managed to dodge most of her attempts.

“Cool it, red,” he sniggered in her ear, pulling tighter on her arms with a wide smirk. He had managed to fold his own arms around hers, so he was holding her arms to his chest. “Don’t worry, you’re next.”

“Don’t you dare,” she growled at him, twisting her arms in his hold and throwing her head back, feeling the back of her skull catch on his face – most likely his cheek, as it didn’t feel like a nose. Stunned, Murphy, released her, and Isobel made a break for it, only to be grabbed around the waist and lifted off the ground. She pushed at the arms holding her, but they didn’t budge.

“Is it really so hard to keep hold of her?” asked Bellamy as he maneuverer the girl in his arms so he was holding both of her arms down with his own, as well as keeping one arm around her waist, to stop her from wriggling as much. “Get her wristband off.”

“Right,” grunted Murphy, rubbing his cheek with his shoulder. “You’ve got one hell of a hard head,” he muttered at her as he walked closer, grabbing the arm that had the wristband and holding it tightly under his own with his back turned to her. He then shoved his knife between her arm and her wristband with no preamble. Isobel hissed when she felt the blade cut slightly into her skin.

“Be careful,” Bellamy warned, glaring at the back of Murphy’s head, who only rolled his eyes, unseen.

“Stop it,” she whimpered, jerking against Bellamy in an attempt to break free, but his grip on her was like a steel vice. He lowered his head slightly and she could feel his breath in her hair, against her ear.

“I’m sorry.”


End file.
